The War Was In Colour
by Lyralamora
Summary: She relished in her insular existence, reserving the right to remain tragically miserable. It seemed the universe, it's gods and Argus Filch all agreed unanimously with her on this account - a story of potioneers, riddles, romance and Lily Evans.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** This is a story in two parts. It will change between past and present events every other chapter. The story is told from Lily's perspective. I have attempted to recreate her thought-process rather than staying true to the characters, though hopefully I have managed both.

Comments and reviews are much appreciated.

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable places and characters is the property of J.K. Rowling. The rest is mine.

THE WAR WAS IN COLOUR

Prologue

_Though Potter was orphaned early in life, his parents continued to have a larger than normal impact on his life. Not only due to the fabled prophecy, but in setting an untarnished example for the young wizard to live up to. Upon enrolling in Hogwards School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stories of his parents followed him wherever he went, thus he developed a close personal connection to them. "I believe my parents would be proud of me," Potter stated himself in an interview with the author at the occasion of the triwizard-tournament. _

_Throughout his Hogwarts days, the repercussions of his parents actions, continued to reach him, shaping his life and creating bonds beyond that of time and even magic._

~ _"Harry Potter – The Man, The Wizard, The Legend" by Rita Skeeter_

I

She did not believe in expressionism nor the magical manifestations of emotion. And yet, looking up at the torrential sky, the castle grim in the dwindling light, there were no denying; the world had been tainted.

It was as if somehow her foul mood, her fractioned heart, had bleed into the world and painted it grey. Even the hillside with it's autumn splendour of red and yellow appeared only as a backdrop to the darkened hue that rested over both school-grounds and Lily Evan's mind.

It was no overstatement. Indeed, had it only been. But friendships were just as important in the precarious teenage years as they were later in life. And the thought that she might lose one, that powers and circumstance beyond herself might fraction and break this piece of her life, that was no joke.

And so the weather seemed fitting, even intrusive in it's aptness. Before her, gold and scarlet, silver and green, blended together, leaving streaks across her vision, seeping out into the grey. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, letting them clear, and opened them to find that the world was once more whole, unblemished.

It was walking there, trailing after the smattering bunch of Gryffindors and Slytherins, across the rain soaked ground that she suddenly found herself coming to a stop. Her legs unable, or perhaps unwilling to move further up the path. Her friends, those that remained, had done their best, shoving their sympathy in the little things, like delivering her homework when forgotten, or indeed waiting on her when she fell behind. But weeks had passed and interest faded. But the solitude that remained was one of comfort. After all, how could they understand? Who else would have such rotten luck to end up with a friend that was the best, and also the worst. Who craved her and despised her all at the same time.

"This damn weather. I hate autumns."

"Really? I like the rain?"

They saunterer upwards, chatting, laughing, their adolescent minds filled with quidditch and hormones and magic, both in the literal and figurative sense.

She watched them, seemingly from so far away, though she where only a few steps behind, pondering their naiveté, as if she was so much older, so much wiser, so very much more broken.

"That's easy for you to say. You don't have quidditch-practice later."

That was his worry, that arrogant boy before her. And Severus nowhere to be seen, the idyll complete.

It was better then, she found, to step out of the frame, to walk alone. In this sodding rain.

A final act of defiance at the unfairness of it all, she let it fall, let it hit her. Let her frame be shrouded in the grey hue of autumn. It covered her, seeped through clothes, through skin. Filled her and pored out again, through her eyes, her nose. The world flickering, colours blending together in a blur that was both splendour and chaos. And it seemed for a moment, as if clarity struck down through the torrential downpour, that this was how the world really was. Bleak and tarnished. That made it all the more overwhelming.


	2. In Flux

Chapter One – In Flux

_1976 (Muggle Reckoning)_

I

His face was blank now, as she scrutinized it through the heated steams that lay thick in the air of the classroom. The instructions tumbling from Professor Slughorn's mouth were as hazy as the fumes surrounding her. Her hair had more than once fallen into her _draft of the living death_-potion, leaving the ends frayed, and her fingers were full of rifts and cuts due to both knife and mortar. Class could not end soon enough.

Severus did not look back at her, shielded behind the fringe of his dark hair, seemingly fully intent on his brew. As she was on him. The irony stung. For was it not her that had ended it. Granted, not of free will, but rather as a necessity. And now she was the one to suffer. Had her bitterness shown, she would have been positively red with anger. Instead she shook her head, her hands, and the knife made another tiny incision. It was moments like these that she could not conceive her own reasoning. Why would she chose to be alone?

"Damn," came the low muttering of Matilda as she stirred her cauldron frantically, the contents of which was reduced to a liquorish sort of substance. Lily was, for the very first time, not doing much better. She eyed her potion with disinterest, before resuming her scrutinization of Sev.

"Not working with Snivelus today I see."

It was James she knew. Or perhaps Sirius – they were so alike. But she would not be goaded into a fight. Not today. On the other side of the classroom, Severus looked up from his work for the first time.

"I guess he was the brains of the two. You're doing almost as bad as me."

With that he turned, looked at her, though the movement appeared almost inadvertent. After eyeing her, her cauldron with an air of arrogance that could even challenge the boy next to her, he turned, resuming to ignore her.

"Shut up, Potter."

"What have you done with your hands?"

The fellow Gryffindor eyed her digits, with all it's tiny cuts. Though his face remained expressionless, she steeled herself against the insult no doubt brewing behind the complacent eyes. And still there were twenty minutes left of class.

To her surprise, he did not speak, merely turned. And as Sloghorn finally announced the end of the hour, he followed the throng of people shuffling towards the door, without giving her a second glance. Much like the other black-haired boy, proceeding him out of the room.

"Evans, would you help me clean this up," came the not-so-subtle command from the Professor as she was about to leave, safe within her pack of friends.

If she winced, no one saw it, too intent on sighing over the fact that the Professor wanted yet another chat with his favourite student. Some rolling their eyes, others smirking a little at Lily's obvious discomfort, they all moved along, out of the dungeon.

"Se you at lunch," Matilda said, closing the door behind her, as she was the last one out.

Twirling to face the room, she saw that Slughorn was indeed in the middle of the process of cleaning up. Though why he did not simply flick his wand and restore the classroom to it's pristine condition within seconds, she did not know. His bulging frame was bent over his desk, gathering his notes, when he looked up at her.

"Evans."

Seemingly tasting the word as he spoke it, he drew it out, letting the sound of it linger in the space between them, long after silence had once more descended.

"Yes Professor."

"Evans, Evans, Evans."

He contemplated her with those beady eyes, though she could not decide whether he looked amused of disappointed.

"You are a remarkable young girl, Evans."

Disappointment it was then. She held his gaze, as she stepped further into the room.

"Perhaps the most talented student I ever taught."

Reaching a desk, she stood still, holding his eyes rather than tidying the mess overflowing there.

"And so, when I see your results declining, naturally I'm worried. You are aware that the NEWT-exams are coming up next year. Well, of course you are," he corrected himself, sighing and shaking his head one more time. "A wonderful girl like you Lily; something must be wrong for you to act in this manner."

He grinned, the teeth, marred by his addiction to good wine and crystallized pineapple, bore a yellow hue.

"You would talk to me, would you not. If something was amiss?"

The grin was gone then, a expression of decided severity overtaking his features. Even his moustache seemed to sag with sympathy, and it occurred to her that this man, this old, gentle man, might be just the friend she needed. She was lonely. He was kind. Would it truly be so terrible to confide in him? He was, after all, not like other teachers. Slughorn would understand.

She gave up pretending to sort out the mess, but rather let her hands fall to her sides, eyes glazing over with a wetness that never seemed far away these days.

"Dear, dear. How about we talk about this in my office later, huh?"

She nodded, wiping her eyes hastily on her sleeve.

"That sounds nice."

"Alright my dear. Come around about eight o'clock. Then we'll see if we can't sort you out. Every potioneer gets stuck once in a while."

And with that, he drew out his wand. A second, and one sweeping motion later, the room was spotless; books back in their shelves, ingredients in the cupboard, and waste in the bin.

II

Lunch was crowded, hasty and comforting with it's intruding noises and swift pace. There was little time left to think.

"What did he want?" Matilda asked her the moment she slumped down on the seat they'd saved her.

"What do you think?" Peter interjected. "To give her yet another 'my favourite student badge'. How many do you got now, Evans?"

"Oh shut up or go back to your own table Pete."

Peter grinned and returned to his pie. Being a Rawenclaw, some might think he'd ended up on the wrong side of a confundus-charm, but Peter was one of Hogwarts few students who didn't take the housing too seriously. Neither did Lily, and so, they had always gotten along fairly well. Especially because, as Peter frequently reminded her, she might as well have ended up in his house. With such an arbitrary selection, the stigma between houses seemed pointless. Of course, there were those that didn't agree with him. James, suave as always, followed by his arrogant friend, shot them all an exasperated look while sauntering past. After the customary exchange of angry glances, they all got back to their food and conversation. Lily did however grant him an extra thought, reminiscing over the strange scene that had passed down in the dungeon.

"I can't come to the charms meeting tonight."

"Why not."

"The charms meeting?" Dania interjected, leaning over the table, thus was her eagerness. "I've though about it, and I think we better review some previous spells before starting on the heavier NEWT-charms. How about _bombarda_?

"If we're going to review, I'd rather practice summoning-charms."

"What? That's like OWL-corriculum."

"The NEWT's are almost two years away. Relax, will you?"

"Why can't you come?"

But there were no opportunity to answer as more people joined in. Soon her social transgression was forgotten. She ate, she talked, she laughed, all the while trying to ignore the feeling of trepidation, of regret. Trying to forget her disastrous potion that day, and Potter commenting that Severus had indeed been the brains of the two. She found her mind as changeable as the autumn-weather, no longer certain in what was right and what wasn't.

III

That afternoon it begun to rain, and it persisted through the evening. Autumn had come to stay it would seem. Lily was still hesitant, as she knocked on the Professor's door. Perhaps this hadn't been the best idea. She would loose nothing on a little spell-review. Though if she was in the process of wishing for things, she would wish she was more steadfast, more consistent, rather than change her mind from this to that, never knowing what she wanted. Like now, when a conversation with Slughorn seemed both like punishment and reward. But her mind had been nothing if not ambivalent of late.

She could hear a muffled "enter," from the other side of the door. Presumably Slughorn had sunk too deep into his well of comfort, to emerge from it this eve. And quite right. As she let the door fall close behind her, sending a weak gush of air to her back as it fell shut, she saw that he was seated in his favourite chair, the puffiness of which almost made him drown in the upholstery. His green robes matched its colour, and for a moment it would appear as if he had no body at all, nothing but a head surrounded by green velvet.

"Ah, Lily," he greeted, reverting back to her given name now that they were in private. "Come in me dear, come in. Have some wine. The decanter is on the table."

He swirled the liquids of his own glass around, punctuating his statement, as if words were not enough.

"Professor," she acknowledged heeding his offer and pored herself a glass of the finest red muggle-wine.

The Professor was seated by the fire, his feet propped up on a cushion by which she took her seat on a puff. This was the way Slughorn preferred to have his students seated, on the floor, staring up at him on his throne. But the wine was good, the puff soft; there were no lack of comforts in this room.

"Thank you professor."

He smiled still, but there was a note of worry in his eyes, the manner in which he regarded her.

"So, how was your day?"

"Fine," she said automatically, immediately revealing that this was in fact a lie.

"I see."

He offered her a crystallized pineapple, a quite touching gesture, seeing as he rarely ever gave his favourite candy to anyone. She was in no mood, but did not hedge to accept the box, and sat with it in her lap, not quite knowing where to put it or what to do next. Her palms, moist with the pressing uncertainty, closed thigh around the candy-box and wine.

"You forgot your potions-book today. It's there, on the mantelpiece," he said, pointing.

She froze up, clutching her quarry ever harder.

"Have you-"

"I read it, yes."

The there were silence. Slughorn sipped his wine complacently, seemingly untouched by Lily's sudden awkwardness. She merely looked at her glass, at it's contents, the red liquid having already formed a rim around the edge.

"You are probably one of the most brilliant students I ever taught."

Lily nodded. She knew. Slughorn rarely passed up an opportunity to tell her.

"So is Mr. Snape."

So this is what he wanted. Perhaps she'd been better of practising charms after all.

"You know, many people are surprised at your friendship. Between a Slytherin and a Griffyndor. But not me. No. It is only natural that two individuals as unique and talented as yourselves should be drawn together." "You're wrong Professor," she said, with forced politeness. "We used to be friends, but we're not any more." He chuckled then. That condescending laugh that made her want to throw the wine right in his grinning face. "I'm sure you will be able to patch things up. This is not a normal friendship after all." Then they reverted back to silence once more, only the crackling of the fire consuming its timber could be heard. Then: "Were you aware that the brightest wizards often have trouble with logic?"

At this seemingly pointless digression, she looked up once more, carefully placing the glass and box down on the carpet so that she would not spill, should she freeze up again.

"Yes," he nodded, mistaking her silence for awe. "The most plebeian tasks regarding logic is lost on most great wizards. They're too used to using magic, the right hemisphere of the brain. Emotions."

Here he took a pause, presumably to gather dramatic effect, though non was needed.

"And so, when a wizard, or witch for that matter, encounters a state of emotional turmoil, they might find their magic... affected. This does not include everyone of course. Rather those that are sensitive to begin with. Women in particular."

She frowned, feeling the tendrils of anger stir. She liked her teacher, but could not abide his prejudice.

"I promise, Professor. I am in perfect control of my magic. And my emotions."

He sighed again, and she secretly wished he would seize with these dramatic interludes.

"No, my dear. You are not. But if you want any chance at passing the NEWT-exams, then you must find a way to do it."

She downed her goblet, frowning at the sour contents, and stood. But Slughorn was not done.

"And I promise you Lily, the best way to do that, is to rebuild your friendship with Severus. But not-" he stood, seemingly with great effort, and picked up her book from the mantelpiece, "-by isolating yourself."

With that he handed her back the book, the bookmark still laying where she'd left it, by the Eindride-potion, a look of genuine worry on his face. She did not bother to contradict him, but rather excepted the book and his advice, thought she did not know what she would do with it.

The awkward part past, a more pleasant conversation could commence. It was not until the clock stroke eleven times that they realized the late hour.

IV

Filch,'s features, contorted in anger and the light from the lantern which dangled from his hand, made him quite possibly look like a hinkypunk, luring people of their tracks with it's alluring light. Although the sight was similar, the effect was not. For where people felt drawn to the sight of the one-legged creature, Argus Filch seemed to have a repellent effect on everything and everyone. That included a very nervous, and not at all keen to be caught out of bed Griffyndor prefect, currently pressed up against the wall.

"Look, Mrs. Norres," she could hear the man croak, most likely referring to the muddy footprints left in the hall. Mutterings of 'bloody students' and 'no respect', reverberated through the corridor, as he made his way across the hall, presumably to fetch his mop and bucket. He must have given up on trying to find the culprit.

Lily relaxed, almost sagging against the wall, allowing herself a moment's rest before commencing on the climb up to Griffyndor-tower.

Stiff limbed and weighed down by her troubles and thought of her conversation with Slughorn, the walk took considerable time. Having talked for hours, her mood had slightly improved.

It was almost curfew when she at last left the professor's office.

Now there was the dreary trek up staircase after staircase, jumping at shadows and sounds. The castle, old and magnificent an edifice as it was, creaked and howled, no stranger to inadvertent sounds or drafty corridors.

The rain, still falling in torrents, hit the glass, scattering beads of water upon the window. It had not let up all afternoon.

The book in her hand seemed to pierce her skin, and she though with a blush back to Slughorns confrontation. That she had planned to brew this potion. But though it made little sense now, the action was not devoid of meaning. There had been a logic, however twisted behind her actions. That she should somehow mark her difference, her loss. She was not one to cry, but the world must understand her plight. Or else she truly would be alone. Then perhaps they would remember; her would-be friends. Those that indeed remained. But for now, at least, she relished in this insular and bleak existence, reserving the right to remain tragically and heartbreakingly miserable. No potion was needed. But neither was Sev, as Slughorn insisted.

Indeed it seem the universe, it's gods and Argus Filch all agreed unanimously with her on this account. Through the sounds of wind and rain and general complaints from stone and wood of old age, there was a sound like no other; one of footsteps. Frozen, much like a prey doe, she stared fixedly down the corridor, trying to discern the distance of the intruder. Once again she aliened with the wall, breathing silent and shallow. Then there were voices.

She had expected the janitor. Or perhaps his feline companion. But the steps approaching was neither shuffling nor soft. It was something different altogether. A sauntering swagger, if one could tell from sounds alone.

But as the shadows began to stir, their hissing whispers reverberating through the dark, she grew less focused on who they were, and rather how to hide.

"I'm saying there was no need bringing the cloak."

Indeed, the universe was certainly out to get her today. It was a pity there were no house for those particularly obnoxious. As it were, they were now evened out between the four houses, and Gryffindor was stuck with their fair share; Potter and Black.

She did not need to sneak a peak around the corner to affirm it was in fact them, their voices was enough. They rarely seized talking. In fact, she was surprised they were not more frequently caught when out on their night-time adventures.

"Oh shut up and come on, we need to get to the womp- Evans? What are you doing here?"

The soft mutterings of spells, and then the hall was lit by the tip of two wands. The duo looked even more mischievous than usual in the sparse light. The glee that lit up their features simultaneously at the sight of her did noting to improve their impression. Lily was suddenly very aware as to her appearance that was sure to bring about some remark.

"Out of bed at this hour Evans?"

James grinned, stepping closer.

"She was probably out on a moonlit date with Snivelus."

They laughed, menacingly to her ears, the movement contorting their features ever more. Light from their wand tips seeped, creating streaks across her vision, the world. Blending into the darkness.

"Leave me alone," she muttered, a pathetic, fragile sound.

The streaks stirred, Potter stepping closer, the light from his wand bobbing up and down.

"Lily, are you crying?"

"No."

To her surprise he took the hint and didn't inquire further. Apparently Sirius must have received a hint as well, because suddenly he resumed walking, with great haste and did not look back.

"See you later James."

"Yeah."

"Where is he going?"

His friend only shrugged indifferently.

"Who knows."

She resumed walking herself, this time with even greater haste, back to the common-room.

"Hey, where's the fire?"

"What?"

James reached her in a few strides, walking along side her with a decidedly pleased expression. The silence did not last long.

"So, you and Severus huh?"

"Oh for god's sake."

"No really. I'm sorry. I know that you were close."

Her feet came to an abrupt stop. As did her mind. James looked down at her, a look of genuine empathy on his face. She did not know how to respond, but merely gawked at this hitherto unknown side of him.

"Lily?" he asked as the silence stretched on.

It was as he extended his hands towards her that a third light manifested itself at the end of the corridor. She shrunk away from his hand, as though it was a branding iron, blinking, feeling the wetness on her cheeks.

"Oh damn," she heard him mutter, and when she looked back to where she stood, she found nothing but air.

"James," she hissed at the empty corridor. She only heard a mutter of "later Evans," before she was left alone to the mercy of Filch.

At least some things didn't change. James Potter, always and forever looking out for number one.

**A/N: **Just a note of information. I'm aware that parts of this chapter is very unclear, but I promise that this will be explained later on.

Thank you for reading.


	3. The Potioneers

Chapter Two – The Potioneers

Lilla Royk_, a brew that renders it's consumerist subject to a major hallucinogenic fit. Other reactions might be paranoia, extreme tranquillity or else a raging hunger. This state of confusion generally kicks inn three hours after intake and last for about twice as long. There is no cure or counter-spell for it's effects, but once the reactions has passed, there will be no lingering side-effects.  
The brew is a relative new one, discovered in 1964 by Rufus Woodstone. Since then it assumed immediate popularity amongst a new movement of wizarding youths. _

_It's main ingredient is the tibersus-root, most commonly found in willow-trees. _

_~"One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" by Phyllida Spore_

_1972 (Muggle Reckoning) _

I

There had been no dramatic goodbyes, only a slowly growing distance, their friendship fading, bleeding out. The tendrils of destructions had ever been present, and somewhere along the line it had died, though she could not say when. That, she speculated, might be the hardest thing of all.

There had been happiness once. Contentment with each other and the world. And most of all, a whole lot of running.

Like when they ditched school for the very first time. They ran, feet so fast across the school-grounds that she thought they might fall off, that she might crash into a tree, or into the lake, for she would stop for nothing.

The greenhouses which they should be moving towards, grew rapidly smaller, soon distant both in actuality and in their childish minds. Racing over the lawn, their robes fluttering behind them like a sail, they at last tumbled down in the grass, underneath a willow-tree.

Breathing ragged, she could not even speak. The salty, tangy taste of blood assaulted her senses, as she laughed loudly and ignored everything else; the taste, the heat, the ground beneath her and the twigs and pebbles adorning it.

Severus lay beside her, his breath as laboured as hers. He did not speak; Severus was good like that. He understood silence. They could stand still together. Or in this instance, lay on the ground as if they were naught but scattered leafs.

As her heart slowed, the beating, pumping sensation in her body tuning down, she laughed louder still, turning towards him in the grass.

"I've never ditched school before," she confided, safe in their own personal sanctuary beneath this tree.

Severus laughed again. She could make out her silhouette in the darkness of his eyes.

"Do you think they'll take many points for this?"

"Of course not," he reassured her, but it was evident he didn't care much. "The worst that might happen is that they review something we might get at exams. But I wouldn't worry about it."

He laughed again, this time at her shocked expression.

"You don't care at all, do you?" she had to ask, though she dreaded confronting him. But Severus, like herself, had no wish to spoil the moment. He simply turned over, directing his attention at the wide stretch of sky and the yellowing leaves above them.

"I want to go to Singapore," he said promptly.

"What?"

"Do you remember what Slughorn said. About the potion-school in Singapore?"

"Yes," Lily nodded, embedding the twigs and dirt on the ground further into her hair.

They had the same length now, Severus' too long and hers too short. Yet another stupid, ill-conceived idea. She wanted to change, but was afraid to be radical. Cutting her hair had been the compromise. And the result was not good. Still, hair grew out.

She was grateful now, in any case that it was not too long. The tree, it's branches pushed about at the mercy of the wind, blurred as she let her eyes glide out of focus.

"Well, I want to go there. After Hogwarts."

"Do you think my hair is ugly?"

"What?" Severus asked, perturbed by the sudden digression.

"My hair. Eliza and Black said it's too short. And miscoloured."

"You can come too. I'm certain we would both get in. How can hair be miscoloured, anyway? Or too short? Or ugly at all? It's just hair."

"It's decided then. We will go to Singapore. Once we're out of Hogwarts, we will leave. Oh, is that a tibersus-root?"

Still breathing hard, elated by their flight and small rebellion, they settled their future there, under the willow-tree. It's trunk was weather-beaten and bent low, subdued by the frequent wind. It's leaves yellowed now, but no less beautiful. And in-between the branches, there was a little growth, only visible when the wind blew just so.

Severus stood, perched as far as he got, scrutinizing the tree.

"I think it is."

"Help me fetch it," she said, now elated once more, the emotions of early pubescence running high.

"What for?"

"It's a restricted ingredient, isn't it."

Restricted for good reason. But when every rule appeared only as a measure the adult had taken to keep the children bored, this did not occur to them. She stood, eyeing the root with unconstrained greed.

Perching her boot in his entwined hands, she was elevated above the ground. Clutching, grabbing thigh to the trunk, she edged onwards, upwards. Up amongst the fragile branches. She heard him ask whether she could reach, what was up there. But there were no breath for banter, as she panted with effort.

"Higher," she grunted, but that was all she could say.

Hand clasped around the root, she let out a breath of triumph and surprise at her own temerity.

"Now what will we do with it?"

"We will take it back to the castle. I think I scraped my cheek."

"It's no mark there. To do what?"

She rubbed her cheek, wincing slightly at the soreness lingering there.

"Are you sure."

He stepped closer, peering at her skin.

"Yes, there's nothing there."

Lily fingering the ugly effigy, it's mangled, twisted form and ragged surface.

"Well, we might look up a potion to used it in."

"And then what?"

"Then we might do all sorts of things. We can slip some in James's tea."

"Slip what? And since when do you call Potter James?"

"I don't know."

"What?"

"What?"

II

After skimming through their potions book, huddled together in the protective confines of the history of magic shelves in the library, they finally settled on the Lilla Royk potion. Horrible as it sounded, as it no doubt was, they could not grasp the effect, and consequently didn't care. In their pulverulent haven of dusty old books, they concocted their plan, as they would later concoct the potion.

It would be amazing, of that they were certain. They should serve it to someone during breakfast, Lily said. To Potter or Black or that annoying Rawenclaw McCarthy Severus chimed in. They would brew it in the dungeons, or perhaps an empty classroom. And most importantly, they must surely be the youngest witch or wizard ever to succeed with such a potion. But then they were both exceedingly talented, and what was more, they both knew it.

Because of this, their incandescent talents, it was no ordinary childish prank. It was sophisticated, it was advanced and intelligent. Surely that would elevate them above the people whom they intended to play their prank out on. No, they were not arrogant or mean-hearted. Simply cleverer.

The bubble of wild joy that kept them laughing all the way down to the great hall for dinner, was indescribable. Once thing was certain though; ditching herbology would no longer suffice, compared to this sort of thrill.

III

"There, the classroom at the end of the hall. No one ever uses that."

He endeavoured to point, arms filled to the brim with a varied assortment of herbs and plants, and from the crock of his elbow, a cauldron hanging.

She nodded, ushering past him down the seventh-floor corridor. It was further up then most classrooms, only the voluntary subjects being taught there, and so most of the classrooms were left empty, for the convenience of students with intentions less honourable.

She only carried the book and the tiberius-root, and consequently moved with more grace. He scrambled after her, the sound of friction from the unoiled metal of the cauldron reverberating through the corridor. They had just closed the door behind them, as a chatting crowd of Griffyndors passed.

"We'll need to be careful. Many people feel an allegiance towards Potter," Severus muttered, pressing his ear to the door and listened to their fading laughter and footsteps.

"You make it sound like war," Lily laughed.

They made a fire in one of the desks, and began to boil up water. They were rarely allowed to work together in potions-class, so this was a rare treat. It was nice to talk, just talk, while the noxious vapours rose from the kettle between them, making it hard to spot one another.

"Alright, now stir fifteen times," Lily commanded. They decided right away that she'd be the one reading the instructions, and Severus the one executing them.

"Which way."

"It doesn't say. Can't be that important then," she shrugged.

"Well, what do you think? Counterclockwise?"

"Sure, that makes sense. It's a brew after all."

And so the hours passed. They were both all too soon stiff limbed, and sore from sitting too long. They passed the ladle between them, so that they might rest their hands for a while. The brew seemed tempting, the smells rising from it enough to ensnare their senses. But though stricken by hunger and sore muscles, they persevered, the though of their reward looming before them.

IV

She gave her partner in crime a meaningful look as she once more took her place by the Griffyndor table. She felt exceedingly devious, having stood and walked down the table under the pretension that she was fetching more sugar for her porridge. But Lily was far too riled up to consume food of any kind this morn. Because as she reached for the bowl, she had, in a gesture quite stealthy, managed to pour a vial of the potion into the goblet of one arrogant (and at the moment otherwise occupied) Griffyndor.

As their eyes met across the room, the feeling of boiling excitement was almost tangible. They exchanged a swift smile, and it occurred to her that though the prank in itself was fun, it did not exceed the wonder of camaraderie it had spurred. To be united, to share this secret; it was nothing quite like it.

And so she smiled into her untouched breakfast and only shook her head in silence whenever someone would ask why. This little bubble of happiness lasted all through the morning classes. Then it was time for transfiguration, and the potion was due to take effect.

"Hey, Lily focus," Matilda admonished, calling her attention back to the pincushion she was supposed to transform. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and got back to her task.

"Good thing it's Friday today, right," her friend muttered. The week had been long and tiring for them all.

"Yes," Lily agreed, though she did not really listen.

"Do you have any plans?" Matilda asked, determined to get something out of her friend.

"No. I don't know. Yes, I'm doing something with Severus."

The other girl blinked a little at the contraindicative answer, confused.

"So you are doing something? Can I come along? I haven't really gotten to know him yet."

Had Lily had time to answer, Matilda would not have been happy about the reply. None of the Griffyndor were particularly partial to this friend of Lily's, but that was partially because he were the sworn nemesis of two of the most popular guys in school, and also because Lily was determined to keep this particular friend separated from the others, never giving Snape a chance to prove them wrong. Still Matilda was curious as to who this boy was, that took up so much of her best friends time.

But that was when the potion struck. Across the classroom and row of benches, there sounded a loud bang as a student had suddenly slipped from his chair and down on the floor. There sounded a collective laughter, Lily and Severus chiming in, before they saw who it was that fell.

Sprawled out on the floor, lay Peter a look of dreamy indifference on his face. He was humming under his breath, staring up at the ceiling as if it was the most magnificent sky, and not just the same old stone surface. The class fell silent, as they began to grasp that something was wrong.

"Look," sounded his singsong voice. " Look at the light. Look at my hand. How... strange."

"What on earth are you talking about, Mr McCarthy?" McGonagall's regal voice sounded through the room. She brushed past them, down to were he lay.

"If you do not want detention, Mr McCarthy, I suggest you get back to your seat, and complete today's task."

The force of her voice, her eyes, her entire being, was enough to get any student to comply. But not one under the effect of Lilla Royk. And so it happened that the boy only laughed. Thrilling and loudly.

"You are beautiful Minerva. I mean... you know."

It began with laughter, that only grew as Peter continued with more and more outlandish descriptions and declarations. The dreamy look in his eyes was almost enchanting as he rolled about on the floor.

"My god, what's wrong with him? Looks like he's... smoked something," Matilda laughed. She was no stranger to the more enjoyable uses of herbs and fungi, being the youngest of three sisters. She had never consumed the stuff herself, but new full well how the effects manifested themselves.

"Looks like it," Lily laughed, tears in her eyes.

It continued like that for an enjoyable while. She only meet Severus' gaze once. That was enough, protecting their secret was the most important thing. And they needed nothing more to reaffirm their success. Though they were both a little miffed as to who ended up as the 'victim'. But in the middle of the laughter and the Professors indignant reprimands, there suddenly sounded a sound that did not belong at all.

A sudden choking, rasping sound emanated from the mouth of one Peter McCarthy. And that's when she recalled; Peter were allergic. To everything, or rather most things. That made him quite lucky most of the time, never having to taste the potions they made. But right at that moment, he was anything but.

She could not take her eyes of his choking, bluing face. The contorted features, and the foam that had begun gathering around his mouth. And while looking she could not think, barely even breathe. Had she been able to keep her wits about her, she would have realized that this were all her fault. Then she might have been able to act.

As it were, McGonagall was the one to bring him to the infirmary. Matilda and another Rawenclaw were the first ones to visit him as he got better. James and Sirius even stole a toilet seat for him (a nice gesture in context). Lily just sat there, in the classroom, long after everyone else had left. Long after the lights went out.

That was the first time she was summoned to Slughors office. The first time she felt the full force of his favouritism. Rather than feeling guilty, she had up till this point damned her own bad luck. It felt as if the thing that had come to be between her and Severus were somehow tainted, though not by their own volition, but rather a kid that had an annoying propensity to be allergic. They had meant no harm, after all. And this thing they had, did that not mean more than a little accident?

Her mind reeled all they way to Slughorn's office, but once there, she suddenly felt devoid of all though. He did not speak for a long while, but rather looked at her with his most sever expression.

"Mr. McCarthy will be alright."

"I know," she replied, a little defiantly.

He sighed then, slumping down in his chair.

"I realize it must be hard for the two of you, not always being recognized the way you should. But I assure you, this is not the right way to seek attention."

"I wasn't-"

"Oh, please Evans. I have been a teacher for many years. The ones who act out, are more often than not people in search of a little recognition. And who other than yourself and Mr. Snape would have the talent to brew such a potion?"

She blushed, but said nothing. Thought she felt the need to explain this thing with Severus, that it was more than just the act, but the joy of having something to be solely united in. She didn't. He would never understand.

"I will not report you. No Evans," he said, as she looked up in surprise. "But I hope that from now on you will use your abilities better, not in harming people."

It took weeks before she understood. Before she realized the full extent of her actions, that someone had really been harmed. That she maybe had sought attention, though she could not grasp who's. And that maybe Severus Snape really weren't the best influence. Then she took a trip to the hospital-wing and visited Peter. He forgave her on the spot.

**A/N:** Firstly, thanks to N and Caitlin for your wonderful reviews! Secondly, I'm aware that the dialogue in this chapter is fragmented, confusing, even bad. It was an experiment with varying results. Let me know if it should be edited.


	4. Through the Door

Chapter Three – Through the Door

_1976 m.r. _

I

After bouts of angry reprimands and a detention scheduled for next Wednesday, the Griffyndor returned to the common-room. Filch had intermittently yelled and spluttered, all of which had taken considerable time. It was now past midnight.

It was with ill-concealed fury Lily entered the common-room. But as she stormed through the portrait-door with loud steps, waving her wand, she found the room deserted. She had had such a vision; how she would speak her mind, how she would truly make James understand what a prat he was. It was a good thing then, that there was no one there to see how she deflated at the sight of the James-free room. It occurred to her that it had been ridiculous to have expected that he would wait here. He had, after all, left her to the mercy of Filch. And he had obviously been out on one of his night-time adventures.

Despite her exhaustion, Lily did not go straight for the door that led to the dormitories, but rather strayed off towards the fireplace. The flames were still crackling merrily. On the tables surrounding it, the scattered remains of someone's homework had been left behind. She did not envy the poor soul who had presumably stayed up for hours, finishing the horoscope.

The chair was still warm as she sank down in it, the leathery upholstery creaking. It's former inhabitant had probably just gone to bed. This quiet and deserted room made a stark contrast compared to it's usual crowdedness.

As the anger towards James settled, her mind was free to roam, and rested at last on her conversation with Slughorn earlier that eve. It had been pushed back in the recesses of her mind, but was now pulled forth.

She had not had much of an opportunity to argue her teacher. That was not the way he liked things done. People were summoned to him. For advice or reprimands. But never to argue. She supposed he'd made a point too. A potion to quell her solitude, that was not the way. But neither would she go back. It had taken her six years to break off this unhealthy attachment to Severus. That did not mean she no longer cared for him, no longer missed him. It simply meant that she was done pretending they had not grown apart. Their friendship were no longer what it once had been. But should her magic get seriously affected, what then? If she did not regain her composure soon, she would have to take action. If worst should come to worst, they might rekindle their friendship. But for now, a hiatus would do them both good. That she was certain of. Even if it sometimes didn't feel like it.

The flames died a slow death, and after a while, there were only embers left. Her body, cold and stiff from tension, turned to a gelly-like substance, gluing itself to the leather beneath her. She must have fallen asleep for a minute or perhaps an hour. Time passed fleetingly, sometimes fast, sometimes so slow, it was as if it did not move at all. And still she did not go to bed.

This thrall held her until the scuffling of the portrait-door being opened broke the silence. Exited whispers emanated through, and she froze up, thankful for the high back on the chair that concealed her body completely. She had no wish to pry, but could not very well shut out the voices as they begun to speak.

"I think we should go bigger next time. Maybe try to break inn to Dumbledore's office or something."

It was the unmistakable voice of Sirius Black, followed by the exited agreement of his friends. She remained seated. If they would go straight for their dormitory, they might never know she was here. As it were, she was in no mood to have another chat with James.

They passed swiftly enough. As the door fell shut behind them, she breathed out. This was her cue for bed too.

But just like with everything else that night, her luck failed her. As she was standing, the weak light of the fire at her back, the door to the boy's dormitory opened again.

It was James. Of course. The culprit himself. It was curious how she'd been seething with anger only a while ago, wanting nothing more than to tell him off. Now all she wanted to do was to hide.

"Ah Evans. I was hoping I'd run into you."

His entire manner pointed to the exact opposite. He did not look at all pleased, but rather uncomfortable. Even a little afraid. Then again, she'd never been particularly kind to him, even on the best of days. And this had definitely not been one of those.

"I'm just getting some homework," he said, pointing to the occlomancy-papers on the table.

"Occlomancy. My god, do you still take that drivel?"

"No. They're for Peter. Pettigrew. Not your Peter."

"Right."

She made to push past him, in no mood for a night-time chat. But before she could cross the carpet and reach the sanctuary that awaited her at the other side of the door, he stepped in front of her.

"Look, I'm really sorry about what happened. You see, I had plans."

"So did I. Now move Potter."

"Well, it's not like you got detention. Like I would have."

"I did actually. And I lost twenty house-points."

He tried for a charming grin, pushing his hand through his unruly hair. It did not work, though she hated to admit it he looked quite good like that.

"See, then it was a good think you were caught alone. Or else he would have taken forty."

She gave time for one exasperated glare, before trying to push past him. His hand shot out, grabbing hold of her arm.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

With that simple touch, it was as if everything that had happened that evening, or indeed that entire year came crumbling down at once. It was a curious mix of anger and fright. Most of all sadness, though she dreaded showing him. She would not cry now. Not this way, not in front of _him_.

"Wrong with me?"

She could not fight the hysteric spots in her cheek, nor the glazing of her eyes. Her throat constricted, though that was purely from anger. Nothing else! Strange as it was, it would appear that much the same physiological reactions manifested themselves on him as well. He seemed a little misplaced without his suave arrogance. Though how his anger was justified, she had no idea.

"Just let me go. Leave me alone. God, why is that so hard to understand."

It was better to say it all in one rush, or else she might loose her voice.

"No, actually. It's not hard to understand. It's not like you loose a single opportunity to show the world how much you resent me."

That this might actually hurt him had never occurred to her. Nor did she believe him now. Trapped with the dread of her own weakness, the tears that she did not seem able to hold back, Lily had little thought for the feelings of others. Much like James, in fact.

"Oh come on. You love torturing me," she yelled, trying yet again to pull her arm free, and this time succeeding.

Storming past in a flurry of hair and robes, she was about to make her dramatic exit, already having made the plan to hold her breakdown until she was alone in the staircase, so that her room-mates would not see her cry. But as usual, James did not share her propensity to seek solitude. He followed her through the door.

"This is the girls dormitories, James. Leave!"

"No! Not until-"

He had stopped speaking, and she knew very well why. With a sharp snap, the stairs dissolved beneath their feet, conflating together into a slide. They automatically tried to hang on, her fingers scraping the wall, trying to find a crack to hold onto. But to no avail. After a few seconds that seemed to last forever, they both tumbled backwards, down the slide and out the door.

James fell first, bursting through the door and landing with a hard thud on the carpeted floor of the common-room. Lily followed, though she was not lucky in her fall. Neither was he, as she landed on top on him, elbowing his chest.

There was a short moment, before they regained breath and the door to the dormitory slammed shut, that everything seemed entirely silent. In Lily's mind there were only the knowledge that she was at that very moment crushing the body of her sworn nemesis beneath her. And she was not entirely certain as to how she felt about that.

If he had been handsome a moment ago, he did not look nearly as good now; eyes tearing up in pain, cheeks flushed and mouth agape. His hand was on her upper arm, and innocent enough place. She could not even feel the heat of it through the fabric of her clothes. But there was an unmistakable pressure there. Of James Potter's hand against her arm. He squeezed a little harder, probably in pain, and she felt to her utter surprise, a tingle run down her spine, making her body shudder pleasurably.

He coughed, chest heaving. So close. She supposed it was time to say something. Apologize for elbowing him. But apart from her natural aversion towards apologizing to Potter under any circumstance, she did not want to break the silence.

Ever so slowly, his breathing evened out, his chest moving rhythmically, hand still on her arm. His face was close, she could count the lashes, she could see the redness fade, muscles relaxing as air once more entered his lungs. His hand too. It lay almost limply now, against her.

It was undeniably an absurd situation. Even a little clichéd. To think, she had been prepared to hex him only a short while ago. Now she was straddling his lap, scrutinizing his recovery from the damage she had inflicted.

When he kissed her, she was not really surprised. From the moment they fell, it had seemed inevitable that something like that must happen. If only to make the moment more humiliating. As he lifted his head and pressed his lips against hers, her eyes shifted focus, and she suddenly felt herself stare down at the old and dusty carpet in which she had her fingers entangled. They were almost obscured by the plush fabric of the rug. His eyes were closed, she saw, in one quick glance. Hand still resting on her arm, he used the other to support himself on. It was all very strange and still, before he nudged a little closer, lips catching hers properly. Just like the breath caught in her throat.

She had kissed before. She knew he had. But it had never been quite like this. Not so strange, not so hesitant. And not nearly as good. It only lasted a few seconds, she would permit no more. As his hands grabbed a proper hold, travelling downwards, she pulled back swiftly, the kiss concluded as quickly as it had begun. It was curious then, how it left her.

He looked just as shocked, though from the kiss or her sudden withdrawal, she could not tell. The flush that had subsided was back with full force, though neither of them were angry. She stood and turned away, looking at the brick-wall as if searching for some sort of answer there, and scrutinized it until he was on his feet too. She did not see him leave, but rather heard his steps, softened by the rug, as he left for the dormitory, all the while contemplating the wall in front of her, the pace of his steps, the fact that he forgot to fetch the paper, the reason that they'd found themselves together at all. Studying their actions, she could not grasp their cause.

II

The soil between her fingers were rich and wet. It wound it's way underneath her fingernails and into the tiniest cracks in her skin. All around was a pleasant and low mutter, as people were intent on their task, namely trimming the shrubs at hand. It was an easy job, as they did not seem to have any magical use at all, and were certainly not aggressive, as they had come to expect at a NEWT level. But Professor Beery assured them that the roots was a most vital use in some potions, and so they did their job with care. To think, a few month back she would be more occupied with how to steal a few roots for her and Severus to experiment with. Now she let them be, though she felt the tendrils of curiosity stir. Severus was not in class today.

"Did you notice the hour-glass this morning," Dania muttered whilst navigating her knife through the leaves with much care. Lily had noted but refrained from commenting, since she was responsible for some of the missing points after all. She was surprised to find that she was not the only one responsible for last nights house-point reduction though. There were forty points missing, rather than twenty.

"It was probably Potter and the others. They're always round and about at night-time," she said, voicing her own suspicions. James had claimed he had not been caught, but then again, James lied, everybody knew that.

"Probably. It's too bad though. Now Rawenclaw is in the lead."

"Oh come on," Matilda sighed, already having completed her task, and now leaned languidly against the table, fingering her scissors. "Pete is in Rawenclaw. And Tom. Besides, it's only October, it's not like we were going to stay in the lead the whole year."

"We won't now. Besides, that was not what I meant. I would just like to know who it was, that's all."

She would have liked to let the subject drop, but alas, the other's would not let her.

"Perhaps Lily can shed some light there," came the comment from around a particularly large shrub. Peeking around the leaves, was the ever-smirking face of Potter.

She did not look at him, nor did she reply, but rather gathered all her focus on the task at hand. He would give her up now, she was sure he would. Her friends wouldn't mind that much about the house-points, but if it was revealed that she was out of bed last night, it would raise all sorts of uncomfortable questions as to why.

"Oh really," Matilda asked, now too catching an interest, the scissors suddenly still in her hand, it's sharp edges glinting.

"Oh yeah, but your much to good to give me up, aren't you?"

"I just said I though it was you."

She honestly couldn't grasp what he was about. Hiding behind her hair and the shrub, she covered her blush neatly.

"You treacherous vixen. No matter, I love you still."

"Oh shut up James!"

The other girls snickered, as the attention of the other onlookers spiked. Most people seemed to forget their task, the professor's attentions as usual was elsewhere.

"But how can I, after last night?"

"Lily?" Matilda asked, eyes alight with excitement. "Oh I knew it! Pete's going to be so disappointed."

"Be quiet! Nothing happened, you know what he's like," Lily defended herself, nodding towards the partially shrub-covered man with distaste. "James says things like that all the time."

If Lily supposed James would argue his point, she was sadly mistaken. He did not seem to agree with her, but rather than the playful flirtation they had grown so used to, he sent her a look as if almost affronted, before ducking behind his shrub.

The rest of the hour passed unendurably slow. When gazing at her wrist-watch, though she was far from finished with her task, it would seem the hands did not move, only the one going round and round without any progress at all.

She did not finish and would be graded poorly for this lesson, but Matilda's quick work would surely provide them with ten points for Griffyndor, at least earning back some of what she'd lost. As Matilda herself pointed this out on their way back to the castle, Lily caught sight of the unruly dark hair of a certain young man.

It had not been a conscious decision, and in retrospect she could not explain her action. As the other students, eager for lunch, passed her through the doors, she stepped aside, veering off from the herd.

"I thought you said you didn't get caught," she said, stopping James in his way inside. His expression was the same as it had been earlier; affronted.

"If you recall last night at all, you would know I never actually said those words."

"But you implied it," she countered, not knowing how it mattered or why she argued.

"You're one to talk."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said evasively, shrugging.

"I don't like being deceived. Or lied to."

"Nor do I, Evans."

"Right..."

They stood in silence, alone. He waited as if expecting her to speak, but when she didn't, he made to step inside, hand braced to nudge open the heavy oaken doors.

"I can't make you out Potter. I really can't."

It was a certain finality, a conclusion, in the sound of the door slamming shut in her face.


	5. Time Passes

**A/N:** It certainly has been a while since the last update. But now that I'm back in the world of fanfiction again, I promise, this fic will be completed! Reviews would be much appreciated, as always.

Chapter Four – Time Passes

Sort Eindride_, a brew known for its simple, yet powerful effect, whereupon the consumerist immediately after intake will experience a state of complacent isolation. The victim, as one might call it, is still able to perceive other people, but will remain indifferent to their existence. This state of isolation generally lasts for twenty-four ours after intake. It is most commonly used by people who needs to maintain a high degree of concentration, but if used too frequently, the consumer may fall into a precarious state of mind, or else fall mad. _

_~"Advanced Potion Making" - Libatius Borage _

_1973 m.r._

I

Severus face was shone brightly, seeming almost luminescent in the darkness, and it struck her then, as it had of late; he had never been handsome. She hadn't ever considered it before, in all their years of friendship; he could have had fangs or a missing eye, and she believed she still would not have noticed. The first time they had laid eyes on each other, all she could see was his magic, his mysteriousness, and the fact that he set her sisters teeth on edge. His skin never tanned, always the same pasty white, made even more obvious by his dark hair. It was so apparent; his large nose protruding almost comically, and yet, she had never even noticed. As he stood there, waiting on her in the dark corridor of the dungeons, it was suddenly all she could think about. She was ashamed, confused. And most importantly, she couldn't fathom why it suddenly seemed to matter when it never had before.

They'd had more than their faire share of lectures from different professors regarding the "changes" they where in for. Slughorn spoke with fatherly concern of their bodies, of magic, of how hard it was to keep it all under control during what he described as a "wonderful and scary time". He was, of course, to oblivious to notice that it was too little too late, at least where the girls where concerned, most of them now within their thirteenth year, and growing every which way. Professor McGonagall was closer to the target, scolding the boys when they acted out, flirted, or indeed did anything she considered disruptive to her class. None of them ever used to word puberty. But they had talked at length about feelings and changes and "looking at things differently". This wasn't quite what she had imagined they meant. Although, she had a sneaking suspicion that they may have been spot on regarding Sev.

The unlucky mishap with the lilla røyk potion from last year, had lead to the most serious rift in their friendship so far. It had been her idea, of that she was painfully aware. But despite how many times she nagged at him, argued with him, she could not make him regard it as anything other than a harmless joke, refusing too see the error in their ways, or indeed apologize to Peter. That was what she found so hard to forgive. And given that Sev was the most adult thirteen year old she'd ever met, his lack of consciousness was, to be frank, a little disturbing.

He greeted her with a smile, and a light, playful nudge in the shoulder. And perhaps that was it, she mused. He had changed. The way he looked at her with a lingering, intense gazes. His touches softer, more hesitant than before. He was her best friend, certainly her oldest, and she didn't want it to change, any of it.

Nevertheless, she felt ashamed sometimes. Shallow, when she blushed under the gaze of more handsome boys. Silly for the appreciation and excitement she felt when she new their eyes where upon her. Because she didn't care about them, none of these silly, attention-seeking boys. She cared about Sev. Should it really matter then, what he looked like?

"I've had the most awful day," he complained, as they stepped into the classroom.

Lily made a non-distinct, sympathetic sort of noise, as she sat down at the front row of desks, cauldron looming before her. She could see her reflection in the black, shiny surface, features distorted, almost mangled-looking.

"I swear, one of these days I'm going to hex those prats."

She didn't need to ask who he was referring to. Turning her head, she saw them, Potter and Black, at the back of the class, flinging salamander-tales every which way, a look of utter glee on their faces.

"Well, with any luck they'll get detention for this."

Severus snorted.

"Not Black. Slughorn always let him off. And he's not even in Slytherin."

She didn't answer, but turned her head back to towards the blackboard as Slughorn entered the room, his corpulent figure striding up to his desk, overturning quite a few chairs as he went. As the noise faded away and the professor started speaking, she noticed Severus fidget slightly. It was uncharacteristic, she had never experienced him not paying attention in class. She could just make out his features in the surface of her cauldron, everything but his eyes distorted. And they where turned on her. She kept her eyes fixed on Slughorn.

"He likes you, you know," Severus whispered.

"Well, what's new?" she snorted, perhaps a little too derisively. The Professor was always nice to her after all, even when she was late he omitted to take house-points.

He tensed, Lily could feel it, although they weren't even touching. It was as if his anger radiated off him in waves that broke over her, unsettling her. Why did he have to be so angry all of the time? Lily only wished she'd had the courage to ask him that out loud, so that maybe he would explain. Maybe she could help. Maybe everything could be rectified and they could go back to the way they where. Before puberty and inappropriate feelings set in.

"Do you..." Sev began, but broke off and looked down, sorting through his ingredients, although she new they where already organized in perfect little piles in the order he would need them. "Do you like him?"

She turned, surprised at his question, and noticed; he was blushing. He tried to hide behind his hair, all too long, now that his mother had stopped cutting it.

"Slughorn?"

"Potter."

"What?"

The shock in her voice was utterly heartfelt. How could he think that, even for a moment, even if he was all that insecure? But she laughed it off, nudging him in the shoulder, shaking her head.

"What a ridiculous idea."

And when his features moulded into a look of relief, when his blush deepened at her touch, she felt it again, that all too familiar stab of guilt. She turned, gazing towards the back of the now smoke-filled room, and her eyes fell on James. Perhaps she could have pretended to like him just a little bit, Lily pondered as she watched him, his face serious now, eyes bright green. If only so she could let Sev down more gently, she added in as an afterthought.

II

Autumn faded, seemingly picking up pace as their workload grew. Soon there where only a few sparse leafs left, still clinging to their trees, rattling in a hollow, deserted sort of way. It was school, work, life, all seeping together, slipping by fast. Time passed, yet nothing seemed to change. It occurred to her like a strange sort of epiphany, one afternoon while working in the library, that this was it. And for the next four and a half years, this would be it. Gods knew she had no right to complain, she was happy most of the time. At least she thought so, Lily had never really taken too much time examining her emotions. Yet now she got the distinct feeling of being stuck in her own life. A claustrophobic sensation that seemed to follow her everywhere. And it didn't matter that the castle was ever so big, or that they where allowed trips to Hogsmeade now. It was as if her life was a ride, and she couldn't get off.

III

Standing atop the owlery-tower, she was treated to a wonderful panorama, almost all of Hogwarts' grounds visible from up there, through the small, frame-less gaps in the wall. She kept her gaze fixed at the view, all too conscious that Sev, standing beside her, was looking just as intently at her.

"How beautiful," she said in a low voice, feeling more than a little silly; it was something adults said. They where only thirteen, pretending to be mature.

"Yes, beautiful," Severus concurred, his voice just as low as hers, just as serious. But then it had always seemed like Sev had skipped his childhood entirely, revealing his youthfulness only to Lily, and then only in glimpses. Like when he took her by the hand, laughing while they ran, ditching classes, or throwing stink pellets at people they didn't like. Or sneak restricted ingredients from Slughorns office, and concocting forbidden elixirs. Or feeding them to unsuspecting pupils...

At long last, Sev looked away, eyes drifting to the ceiling, searching for an owl for her to use. It was nearing Christmas, the holidays would commence in a couple of days, and she had not yet told her parents that she would not be coming home this year. She'd had the letter prepared for weeks, all since she and Severus had managed to sneak his way into the restricted section of the library on one night-time stroll, and found the recipe for one Sort Endride. She'd suggested that they wait until after Christmas to make it, but as Sev had pointed out, the last stages of the brewing process was demanding. It would be hard enough to keep unnoticed with the castle full of students, not to mention all the classes they would miss. She'd agreed to start right away, though not conceiving exactly why he insisted on making that particular potion. But she had not posted the letter. She didn't know exactly why. Her parents would be disappointed, of course, but they where used to not having her at home. And it would certainly be no loss to Petunia. And Sev was happy, at any rate, glad for the company, as he usually spent the holidays alone in Slytherin tower. And though she did look forward to having the castle to themselves, as she frequently reassured her friend, she still didn't post the letter. Perhaps to keep her options open, or possibly to spare her parents from knowing any sooner than they had to. Possibly because she didn't honestly see the great fascination with this potion in particular. But whatever the reason, time had run out, and as Severus, owl in hand, reached his arms towards her, she compiled.

"Bind it tight, there's a storm coming," Severus muttered.

"Poor creature, flying out in this weather."

"Oh, come on, I think their used to it."

She secured the straps on the owls leg, patting it on the head in a comforting sort of way, though it didn't seem to like it.

"Alright, fly off then, you arrogant beast."

Severus led the owl to a window, momentarily blocking the view of the lake. It needed a little shove, not at all pleased to be cast out into the darkness, and in this weather. But with a screech it took to it's wings, soaring across the park, taking her letter with it.

"Well, greetings to you too, Evans."

The owlery door slammed shut behind a very wet and dishevelled-looking Potter. He'd evidently just come back from quiddich-training, judging by his appearance. Lily felt Severus tense up, and noticed his hand, moving ever so deftly to hover over his wand.

"What do you want, Potter?"

James raised an eyebrow at the malice in the other boys voice. It rather reminded Lily of one of Sirius Black's trait gestures, and she couldn't help smiling a little at the imitation.

"Nothing to concern you, Snivelus," he retorted, with just as much malice in kind.

"C'mon, Sev," she muttered, in no mood to listen to the two boys argue. She felt tired, suddenly. Perhaps a bit put out, though she couldn't tell why; she was surely used to this by now.

"Going somewhere special this holiday," James asked, his face suddenly relaxed, his bright green eyes kind (she could find no other word to describe them) when he looked at her. Yes, he looked kind alright, but Lily knew what he was, a wolf in sheepskin.

"No, not really," she shrugged dismissively. "I'm staying put."

"Really? So am I."

A smile lingered on his lips, his eyes searching hers, possibly for a hint of approval.

"Lily," Severus muttered, standing by the door, holding it open for her.

"I'll see you around Evans," James yelled after her as she followed Severus down the stairs.

IV

"Who else is there?"

Severus' head was bent over the steaming cauldron, the fumes making his hair almost frizzy, his face moist. With more concentration than stirring strictly demanded, he kept his gaze, stern as usual, fixed on the bubbling surface.

Lily shrugged, feeling the annoyance that seem to linger so close to the surface these days. Still, Lily hadn't mentioned to him that he started to get on her nerves. She though it would be best to keep her distance for a while, but they had already started on the potion. And when they where not huddled together in the seventh-floor classroom, he would follow her. Walk her to the common-room, though never stepping inside, eating with her at the Gryffindor table.

"You know who," Lily retorted, rather shortly. "Potter, of course. And Black, Remus and Pettigrew."

He looked up then, suddenly, and with something akin to interest in his expression.

"Really? All of them?"

She nodded.

"Why."

"Nothing."

"Then why did you ask?"

He hesitated. Again. It was a new habit of his. At least around her, he'd always been free and outspoken before.

"The potion will be ready in a week."

And so it dawned on her, what it was that he wanted them to do.

"Severus!"

"What?"

And to her utter surprise he looked genuinely surprised. She turned, fixing her eyes at the bin, not quite knowing what to say. The sensation that had crept up on her for months, was suddenly impossible to ignore; a gnawing, disconcerting angst. They'd been friends for so long, she had always taken him for what he was, or perhaps just assuming he was like her. But upon recalling their first encounter, she remembered the streak of meanness she'd seen in him. Her friend, her best friend, her oldest friend, was it possible that he could be that cruel, that careless?

"Come on, Lily," he spluttered, finally catching up on her train of though. "It's not like they are any better. Potter wouldn't think twice in feeding us this, if he only had the talent to make it."

"I... I don't think they would," she mumbled, eyes still fixed at the bin, not wanting to look at him, feeling the sting of involuntary tears in her eyes. "And anyway, it doesn't matter, because I wont."

"When did you become like that, Lil. You used to be fun."

"When did you become like this?"

"It was your idea, remember? Last time."

"Yeah, I remember what happened last time."

The bin shifted in and out of focus, light and shadow blending together in a confusing spectacle. Noticing her tears, he reached out and took her hand.

"What's the matter," he muttered darkly.

She knew what he was thinking, that he was scared, that she wasn't on his side any more, but more importantly, that she might be on James'. Because that was what mattered to him. Her, and no one else. So much so that he would risk poisoning another student. So much so, that he didn't realize, that was not who she was.

She'd spent weeks, months pondering what might had happened, why they had started to drift apart. And it was right there in his eyes, as he looked at her through the fumes of the smoking cauldron. He was so utterly terrified that she might leave him, that she might prefer another's company, that he slowly, but surely pushed her away.

"I'm going to bed," Lily muttered, and left him alone, kneeling on the floor, eyes once more fixed on the bubbling, black liquid.


End file.
